Josh Stallings - Out There Bad

“If your Armenian is out there, Zhenya will find him.” Picking up a rusted hacksaw, Kolya toyed with it. Running his thumb lightly down the blade, he looked me over like a butcher appraising a side of beef. “The boss doesn’t think pain will loosen your tongue. Is he correct?”

I had learned in prison to relax my face muscles, regardless of the storm in my head. A neutral face showed no fear. He might kill me but I wasn’t about to show him I cared one way or the other.

“I think maybe I will kill two birds with one blunt object.” From his pocket he took a small pillbox. “Do you know what is the great motivator? Not fear, no. Guilt. Pain fades and must be re-administered. Guilt can break a person for life.” Grabbing my jaw he forced my mouth open. Like you would an animal, he tossed several pills into my mouth, he chased them with a bottle of vodka upended past my lips. Glass smacked against teeth. My throat shut down. Short stubby fingers clamped onto my nostrils, I had to drink or drown.

The quart was halfway down when he pulled it away. Sputtering, I struggled to fill my lungs. The neck of the bottle cut my lip against my teeth as he shoved the bottle back in my mouth. Drink or drown.

Dropping the empty bottle, he looked at me and let out a small laugh. “Think of this as your last meal. Vodka, what more could a man ask for?” I was brain fucked. Searching for some bullshit comeback line. But he was gone. I was alone, me, my fear and whatever pill he gave me. That and the vodka. I wished it didn’t feel so good. But it did. That familiar glow, that everything-will-be-fine sensation. I knew it was a whore’s promise, but one my body was fighting to accept. Warm cotton candy wrapped itself around my pain and told it to go home, come again some other day. Somewhere in another country, men shouted in Russian. The rusting blade of a jigsaw came in and out of focus.

I am quiet. I wait. I hunt. I watch as the large American drops out of sight. I move around the perimeter. I hear a dog attack. I hear men moving. His problem. Below us a body moves. Only a glimpse. We are being hunted from below. I drop, silent. Hide behind an outcropping. I watch. I wait. Nothing. Someone is coming up from the valley floor. I can feel them. But I am blind to their movements. They are good. I close my eyes and flare a match to life. I feel my way to light a cigarette. I blow the match out. My eyes need no adjustment. I drop the cigarette. A hundred yards below something shiny twinkles. A rifle sight. It will take him time to find me.

Fuck. I fought to free my arms. Fuck. My heart was starting to race unnaturally fast. I fought to slow my pulse but it was a runaway train. Loopy thoughts crowded for attention. What was her name? The Ukrainian assassin, I could see her cards, but the name?

Thump thump.

Fuck, I was going to die.

Thump thump thump.

Angel, I wanted my dog.

Thump thump thump thump. My fucking heart was pounding like a pile driver. The throbbing in my temples climbed on top of the vodka and reminded me I’d been hit in the head with a shovel.

Time went sideways. Where the fuck had all the sweat come from? Beads rolled off my face, stinging my eyes. The furry little fireplug swam out of the shadows. His pockmarked pal was grinning down at me. Mikayla. That was her name and she hadn’t slit his ugly throat. I was well and truly fucked. Someone started laughing, high pitched and sad. It was me.

Nika lay alone in the dark. They had moved her into a small bare room. On the cold tiles, she lay without the comfort of a pillow or blanket. Her self-imposed fast had driven her into a soft madness. She could no longer remember why she had refused to go with the other girls, only that she couldn’t give in. She had made her peace with the fact that she would die on this cold floor. Whatever she had hoped or dreamed for in her life was now never going to happen. Oddly, she had come to be ok with this fact. She could see how silly her dream of being a star in America was. She was sorry that she would never see Anya again, but it was how it worked out. Fate had given her thirteen years and that would have to be enough.

A dog choker pinched my throat. Pockmark pushed his pistol into the base of my skull, yanking the chain at the same time. The floor felt rubbery and the walls kept tilting on me. Keep moving. Stumble and this twat will kill you. And thump thump thump my rapid-fire heart. Was I dreaming or did I have a raging erection? No. Not dreaming. It was hurting as it tried to explode the seams of my jeans. What the fuck? Really. What the fuck was happening?

From the hallway outside, she heard footsteps coming towards her, then the key in the large old lock. Light flooded in, hurting her eyes. Looking up, she saw a tall man filling the doorway. The huge man swayed as if he might fall over at any moment. With his wild red-blonde hair and beard, he looked to her like a wounded Viking berserker.

A party dress rag doll lay on the floor. Eyes open, looking up at me. Fawn eyes, caught in the headlights, more animal than human. A wave rolled across the floor, almost toppling me. I grabbed the doorjamb to keep from going down.

“This is what you came for, no?” Kolya’s voice traveled from miles away. I could feel his breath on my ear. The rag doll scrabbled away pinning her back against the wall.

“I don’t know why you have gone to so much trouble. She refuses to fuck. And what good is a pussy that won’t fuck?” The girl pressed her face into the wall. Kolya grabbed a handful of her tangled hair and dragged her to my feet. Tugging her hair back, he forced her face up. This is no rag doll. She is a beautiful child. The sound of her dress ripping exploded like thunder. I wanted to close my eyes, not have her see me leering at her young body. But I couldn’t.

“This one, she needs a good fucking, and you, well you look ready to help out.” He was looking down at the clear bulge in my jeans. I wasn’t a pedophile. I didn’t fuck children. But apparently my cock did. I hated the way it felt, blood-filled and ready. Hated that any part of me could want to fuck this child.

The girl looked out at me, her eyes pleading. Bile backed up into my throat, I was close to puking. Even in the face of that, the spinning room and the wanting to puke, the betrayer in my jeans throbbed out a rhythmic pulse. I leaned forward, forcing the chain tight, hoping to choke.

“You don’t look happy. Are you a faggot? You take this little bitch, or tell me where the big sister is hiding. Like god, I have given you free choice.” The sick bastard was enjoying this. Slowly I shook my head, the room spun slowly with the motion.

Kolya knelt down, a pair of wire cutters in his hand. “You don’t care if I hurt you, but what about her?”

“Don’t.” The choke chain turned my voice into a rasp.

“Don’t what? This?” One moment he was reaching for the girl’s foot and next she was screaming. Blood rushed from the stub that had been her little toe. He picked up the amputated toe and tossed it carelessly over his shoulder.

I charged in blind rage, but I only took two steps before the chain ripped me back. My feet skittered out from under me and I went down. Pockmark pinned me under his boot, pressing my face to the floor with a revolver barrel. Kolya wrapped a handkerchief around the squirming girl’s stump. Grabbing a fresh toe, he looked over at me, “I hope you will be a man before I get to her fingers.”

“Stop. I know where Anya is…”

“No!” Nika yelled through her tears. “Please. Don’t. Look at me. We are dead. Don’t kill my sister too. I want you to have me. Not one of these fat pigs.” Cries became whimpers, “Please take me… I want you… please…” She reached a hand toward me, pleading. Kolya released her foot, he had finally broken her. He looked down at her with pride in a job well done.